Schafenberg the hard way!

Tuesday dawns bright and clear, in contradiction to the forecast which is for rain. We have ordered fresh bread rolls and eggs from Frau Leitner and these have been left outside the door of the apartment when we open it, around seven o'clock. Today we intend to climb the Schafberg, a peak of some 2,500m above sea level, but as the Wolfgangsee stands at 700m altitude, the climb is around 1,800m, or just short of  6,000 feet. In preparation we eat a hearty breakfast of cheeses, salami, Black Forest ham and bread. All traces of yesterday's illness have passed, although my cold sore and swollen lip persist, the anti viral cream, containing rather than curing the problem at the moment, despite frequent applications. We set off at a few minutes to ten and Irene has immediate problems with her boots, which keep coming untied. I have resolved to try to help more with her today, so kneel down and check her laces, which are tied in an aphazard fashion, like a two year olds. I retie them firmly with a double bow and we begin the climb from the lakeside. Today I suggest my previous mountaineering experience ought to be listened to and show my colleagues what is meant by a "mountain pace". To the uninitiated it looks slow and laborious, but is actually the even application of effort to climbing, adjusting one's stride length to the steepness of the slope. Shorter on harder slopes, longer on easier or more level going, I also introduce them to the idea of shedding or gaining layers, as a means of controlling temperature, as well as frequent and early hydration. It is over thirty years since I used to teach these techniques, but once learned they are never forgotten. We make steady progress up the mountain, the going alternating between steeper ascents and level stretches as the footpath climbs through the forest that covers the lower slopes. The temperature varying by as much as ten degrees, between the shade and the sun. We cross the cog railway track twice and occasionally hear the sound of the powerful little Diesel engine as it chugs its way up the mountain, taking forty five minutes for the ascent. On Sunday, the day after we leave, there is a Man Versus Train race up the mountain, but conditions would have to be perfect for even a world class athlete to stand a chance. Too sunny and heat exhaustion would prevail, and too wet and the going underfoot would be too treacherous. In snow it would be suicidal even to attempt it. About a thousand feet from the summit, we emerge onto the Schafberg Alm, an alpine meadow in which is situated a small wooden inn and a little way off, one of the stations of the railway. From here we have superb views across the valley and the lake and appear to be slightly higher than the Zwolferhorn, that the others climbed yesterday. We stop at the inn, intending to eat on the verandah, but are driven indoors by a short shower. Michael and David order beers, but I stick to my coffee and strudel routine, Irene asks for a strudel but then forgets she has ordered one and eats Michael's tomatoes on schwarzbrot instead. No one minds, despite her disability, she does marvellously well and will complete the climb to the summit once we resume. We are now above the tree line and although the shower has passed, it feels colder out in the open. There are two buildings on the summit, a modern hotel and another traditional inn, the summit railway station is actually a hundred feet or so below these. Descending Austrian hikers tell us that the inn is both cheaper and better than the hotel, so we make our way there and admire the view from a wooden verandah. The Schafberg is the highest peak in the local area and from here we have a 360 degree panoramic view of the Attersee, Mondsee and the Wolfgangsee and numerous surrounding peaks. Unfortunately I have run out of memory on my iPhone, having downloaded several audiobooks for the journey, but David takes a number of shots from his digital camera and promises to email them to me later. We order food and drinks and then retreat indoors as another shower threatens, at this altitude however, it is of snow rather than rain. The mountain pace has worked well and both Michael and I feel fresh enough to walk back down the mountain, but David, sensibly, decides that Irene has had enough and they opt for the train. Once the shower passes we emerge onto the summit and walk up to the hotel and along a footpath behind the building that is protected by high railings. The reason soon becomes obvious, there is a sheer drop of over a thousand feet on the other side. The same Chinese tourists from yesterday are taking photographs of each other and from their attire, I surmise they have ridden up in the train. David and Irene catch the three o'clock train from the station and Michael and I select a footpath marked St Wolfgang via the Pautschelstein, which is indicated as a black route, ie only for experienced hikers, which we both are. After the shower the path is slippery and I slip a couple of times as my vibram soled boots are caked with mud, the descent becomes progressively steeper and so I stop and clean the soles with one of my poles. After forty five minutes we can see the path descend at an angle of forty five degrees across a sheer rock face, with a drop of at least one thousand feet below it. Beyond this the trail contours round a basin in the Mountain until it descends to the tree line, about five hundred feet below us, on the far side of the basin. Fortunately the exposed descent is aided by steps cut into the rock and a stout wire hawser secured against the rock face. I loop my poles over my left wrist by their hoops, hold the wire in both hands and descend the steps using three point movement, ie only moving one hand or one foot at a time. I tell Michael to do the same and to face into the Mountain, rather than look at the vertiginous drop. In this place you won't make two mistakes. It is slow but safe progress and about a third of the way down the steps, we come to a small cave that is almost full of snow, but at the back we can just see a small statue of the Virgin, carried here presumably, by a strong, brave, man. A little further down and the hawser stops, having been broken in two by an avalanche, its twisted strands evidence to the power and violence of the event. Fortunately the next section of hawser isn't too far away and we negotiate the exposed face in safety and complete the descent of the steps. I had hoped that the path would be a little easier from here, but the contour round the basin, whilst not quite so exposed, still requires extreme care and high levels of concentration, so consequently progress is slow. Eventually we reach the shelter of the trees, overhead rain is threatening and the going underfoot remains steep and difficult. To our left we can see a small lake nestled in a depression between the Schafberg and an adjacent, minor peak, so we repair to its shore and eat some apples, whilst sitting on a boulder. The sun momentarily pierces the clouds and we are bathed in its warm rays, the peace and tranquility of this perfect setting removing any need for speech. After ten minutes respite we continue our descent and a little way into the woods we come across a memorial to a young woman, who was killed here in the 1980's, it doesn't give the cause but presumably it was another avalanche. The steep descent ought, in theory, to be quicker than the contoured climb up the mountain, but in practice it is slower, as greater care has to be taken over each step, but eventually we arrive at a logging road and are able to relax mind and body for a while, only to be diverted again down a steep slope through the woods. Fortunately we re emerge onto the road, the detour simply to protect the privacy of the owners of a mountain villa, who would otherwise have a constant stream of climbers and hikers walking through their grounds. From here it is a straightforward walk to St Wolfgang and nearer the town, Michael recognises a path that leads back to Reid and takes us past an old water mill, that is also a guesthouse and restaurant, that David refers to as the"Fish Restaurant", where they had dinner last year. The owner, a young Austtrian in his thirties, emerges as we cross the bridge by the waterfall and tells us that the restaurant is closed for Whitsuntide and adds that heavy rain is imminent and to hurry back indoors. We thank him and move on, recrossing the railway line and descending into Reid, just as the skies open. Fortunately we both have waterproof cagoules and hats, which we put on and arrive back at our apartment tired, damp but triumphant after completing the mountain. With the benefit of hindsight, it would have made more sense to climb up the hard way and descend on the easier route. Perhaps next time. 

Irene and David tell us they have had a pleasant afternoon on the terrace of the cafe underneath our flats and we arrange to meet up in half an hour and walk into St Wolfgang for dinner at a traditional timber restaurant, that actually looks quite new. The heavy shower has passed but left large puddles along the roadside and the air smells wonderfully clean and fresh as we make our way for dinner, around eight o'clock. Inside the wooden building the decor is rustic and the waitresses are wearing traditional dress, but with a twist, they are wearing lederhosen and look exceedingly fetching. There is also a waiter in lederhosen and he brings a menu and takes our order for beers, we quip that we think the girls look better in leather pants and he quips back, "That depends entirely on your tastes Mein Herren!" Sticking to my principle that local food is always the best choice, I order a hearty mountain dinner of roast pork steak and trimmings, which doesn't disappoint. We leave the restaurant around eleven and make our way back to Reid, where we turn in tired and happy. Tomorrow we are going to drive to Berchtesgaden, about forty miles away in Germany and walk down the Almsbacher Klam, a limestone gorge above the town.